New World
by TheMikamiEscape
Summary: Rebirth, a renewed gift of beginning granted to L and Light. Their revival will bring rivals together to eliminate the next generation Kira, and perhaps to renew old adversities...Review for the sake of god's enduring story! - Pleadingly god's, -Mikami
1. Chapter 1: Rebirth

Ch. 1: Rebirth

Cheated. That single word pulsating in the otherwise absolute darkness. It is a biblical certainty that when God is deceived, a torrential flow of concentrated wrath is to follow. The darkness of the sea and sky as the world was rebuilt amidst the famed deluge was the same utter black that the deceased Light was witnessing. Suddenly, this blankness faded into the sight of a destitute slum of a place littered with what he assumed to be shinigami, as evidenced by their ghastly and lazy visages.

Suddenly a voice echoed in Light's mind: "'One who has used the Death Note can go to neither heaven nor hell,' you knew that, didn't you Light?"

Gripped by the calm of death, Light quickly responds, "Yes, of course. It was a reality I had come to terms with early on."

"Someone as smart as you ought to have realized by now that what you're looking at now is the shinigami realm that Ryuk told you about. Do you understand why you're here?" the voice answered.

"How would I know that? The only logical guess that I could come up with is that this is where I am to live from now on."

"Hehehe. Wrong! Humans who have used the Death Note would never be allowed to become shinigami, especially with their memories from being human. You do remember your life, don't you Light? To put things short, the Shinigami King has asked to talk with you. Your story has struck a chord with him or something."

At that moment, Light's sense of being returned, and the feeling of actively being within the shinigami realm surged within him. A cold, desolate aura was tugging at him as he followed the shinigami whom the voice had belonged to. This particular shinigami was draped in a tattered robe of black, falling around her otherwise visible bones. Palpable blackness seemed to exist within her ribcage, matching the dark mass atop her skull. This creature led Light past the bone-strewn outside environment into an ominous cave, patrolled by two guards who were adorned with a far more professional garb than the average shinigami. Lit by only occasional torches, Light's guide was most necessary indeed.

"So what's your name, shinigami?" Light comments, amidst the otherwise silence of their trek.

"It took you this long to ask? Ryuk always chattered on about how you were so good with the ladies! I was beginning to feel insulted!" the shinigami joked. Upon seeing Light was hardly in the mood for humor, the shinigami finished, "It's Hali"

After a moderate amount of time (lengthened by the general silence the two adopted), the two exited the passage. On the path, (which was only visible due to the difference in the altitude of the ground, as skeletal remains and piles of filth were abundant) an imposing, yet ramshackle Gothic cathedral came into sight. "That's the King's Cathedral, where our current King lives and administers to the living worlds."

The black doors noisily creaked ajar as Light was led into the King's central chamber. Light had noticed upon entering the place that the building's layout was dramatically different than those similar in the human world. There were far more rooms, all converging on the central one where the King resided. The King was indeed regally embellished for a shinigami, as he was strewn with gold, but the accustomed darkness was perpetuated in his countenance by the concealing hood over where his face would have been. As Light was beginning to bow, as would most humans to royalty, Hali nudged him, gesturing that such formalities were lost in their world. As Hali closed the door behind her, the King signaled Light to approach him.

"Light Yagami. The self-proclaimed god of the human world, who took it upon himself to use one of my Death Notes to punish criminals in the human world. Thwarted by another human, he faced a miserable, solitary death on the stairs of an abandoned Japanese shed. He then proceeded to bathe in the darkness of nothingness until I asked Charon to grant me a favor, which has culminated in the current situation, Light Yagami."

"Why did you summon me here?"

"Your endeavors have had a stirring effect on the shinigami here in this realm. A thorough rousing has occurred within our kind due to your initiative. A human using the power of a God of Death for the sake of mortal apotheosis. This feat has garnered much notoriety in our realm, so it has come to my attention that your life was far too brief and your death dreadfully unfitting. As the God of Death, I am willing to make a deal with you."

"I don't see that I have much choice. It's either I stay dead and bask in nothingness or accept your deal, shinigami. So of course I accept." Light shot back, slightly irked by how cornered he found himself in the presence of the being who was fingering his fate

"No doubt, you must have conceptualized how shinigami are formed during your contact with Ryuk, correct? Our bodies have decayed long past the ability to reproduce, as you know. As the King, I am in charge of the selection of new shinigami. The simple reality of shinigami creation is that only those whose lives have been ended by the Death Note can become shinigami. As I instructed Hali to tell you, humans who have used the Death Note, though, are usually barred from becoming Gods of Death, in order to prevent killings of vengeance by newly appointed Gods of Death. Thus, it is simpler this way. But it is different in your case Light Yagami, as you challenge both of these rules. Several shinigami in this realm took it upon themselves to dispose of your enemies, spurred on by sympathy for you. Furthermore, your presence among the shinigami is desired by many, and I am compelled to allow it. But I must be sure of your resolve to become a true god. Therefore, your life will be reinstated and you will begin anew, but you will exist in a world in which the Death Note belongs to a different human. If your Fate is to be a god, then you will retrieve the Death Note from this individual without your current knowledge of the Death Note. So, in essence, you will experience a life reset. I have informed the shinigami realm to avoid assisting you in this challenge. Thus, your memories will be temporarily erased and..."

The door that Light had originally entered then opened again, and the familiar voice of Hali broke in "The two humans whose lives were reestablished four years ago have come into contact, King."

"I see. Light Yagami, you once knew these humans. Their names were L Lawliet and Quillish Wammy, and they were killed by the shinigami Rem in the early years of your campaign. I had to wipe their existences from a number of people using my Death Note, but the decision to make this deal with you has been long in the making, so we had already begun the process. These two humans represented your primary opposition to becoming a god in your original life and thus they will be reused in your second life for a similar purpose. Their relationship had to be maintained for this reason, so Quillish Wammy was merely reanimated, while L Lawliet was granted another life. The conditions of his reestablishment are the same as yours. Your opponents are already aligned for you, both the person who will control the Death Note and these two humans from your past. These are the conditions of our deal, Light Yagami."

Light was flowing with adrenaline, or the post-mortem equivalent, for his rival would again be his obstacle in achieving his goal. The fakes that ended his first life were nothing like the original, as he knew for a long while. The challenge of a new face-off with dare-he-say his L was beginning: he could already envision the crouched, inscrutable appearance of L staring across at him amidst the Japanese skyscrapers. They had both plummeted to their deaths during tempests while atop these buildings, but Light, upon hearing of his future, felt the onset of a fateful, eventful deluge that would craft the rebirth of a world.

I would appreciate feedback if at all possible. Thanks!

-MikamiEscape


	2. Chapter 2: Confrontation

Chapter 2 - Confrontation

The metallic shriek of a collision echoed loudly, disrupting the chilly silence of the night. Tree limbs crashed down upon the vehicle's windshield, sliding off onto the vacant street. The front half of the 1977 black Renault appeared to be melding into the trunk. A panicked, childish voice cried "Maman!" and "Papa" but the same icy silence that had been momentarily disturbed had stealthily returned. Only the empty screams of the child battled with Lyon's nocturnal quiet until distant sirens became audible. Struggling to move towards his parents from the constricted backseat, the boy managed to position his head so as to be above the center console. Crushed against the veneer of the car paneling was his bleeding mother in the passenger seat. Broken glass littered her streaming black strands of hair, hair that concealed her deceased face from his virgin eyes. His father's gaze was directed downward, his head resting on the leather-coated steering wheel. Searing drops raced down the boy's cheeks as profound sorrow mixed with appalling apprehension: he was alone inside that dark, metal coffin.

As the sirens closed in on the mangled steel, the child battled a torrent of emotion. Shock finally overwhelmed the boy as the bright beams of light illuminated the corpses, revealing the dark scarlet bathing the crushed veneer and the contorted remnant of the steering wheel. The firm hands that tore him from the wreckage were as distant to the child as the sirens had been. The only things that the child could emit from his soul were the single two titles of his beloved parents as he was carried away from both his only relatives, as well as the normal life that he could not have.

The orphanages of the area proved to be unfit choices for the boy. The nurses of the institutions diagnosed him as fantastically antisocial and thoroughly bizarre. The boy often overheard discussion of his predicament. It became monotonous for him though, for they all chanted the same pitying words: "It's the shock, poor boy. How could you expect a boy his age to deal with such a terrible tragedy?" This simplified diagnosis struck a chord in the boy's understanding of people after month upon month of the same treatment. While the adults did their best to cater to the boy's eccentricities, not one of them reached out to him or could have any chance of understanding him. Thus, early on, the boy came to understand that, while his heart contained a wealth of feeling and a fervent desire to connect with people, people always settled into their preconceptions about him, pushing the four-year old further and further away from reality.

He was picked on relentlessly by the older children for his odd behavior, especially his absurd fondness for sweets, unkempt demeanor, and unfaltering mental reserve. Although thwarting most of the abuse through an unrivaled intellect, he only grew more detached from the external world as each day progressed. After a year, he had been through more than a dozen orphanages throughout France, finding no solace from the loneliness that afflicted him. The agony of his parents dying had subsided significantly, but in its place, the aforementioned pain of loneliness had filled him.

One month, ten days, eleven hours, and twenty-four minutes had elapsed between the accident and his arrival in the fateful Avignon orphanage. Upon arriving, the boy noted the grandeur of the architecture, but that was the only differentiating factor between these and the last fourteen he had entered. While not presumptuous, the child had subconsciously expected similar treatment from this orphanage – abundant with pitying, insensitive individuals whose true purpose was not to help him, but rather to diagnose and ship him off to parts unknown. The pointed arches of the facility towered above the boy's meager stature as some unimportant man led him inside, dripping with the same false sympathy as each of the others before him.

Twenty-seven child steps between the door and the staircase, eighteen stairs to the appropriate level of the building, fourteen child steps to the proper room in which the administrator of the facility was located. The man was tall, mustached, and most notably held the strange quality of appearing gentle, while simultaneously demanding the totality of the room's attention. This aspect of the man was certainly not lost on the perceptive boy, whose gaze gravitated and became fixed upon him.

"Bonjour, young man," the elderly gentlemen began with a friendly grin. "I welcome you to the Chateaux de la lumière et de renouvellement, it is a pleasure to meet you. You may call me Monsieur Morrel."

"Bonjour, Monsieur," the boy replied tersely. The cordial elderly man seemed nice enough, but it was too early to accurately gauge as to whether he would continue the trend of distancing via sympathy.

"I have before me a list of the orphanages that you've been to. The caretakers at each place have insisted that you are a most special case. But that will be discussed after we show you your room. Please follow me," said the man, motioning the boy and the irrelevant guide down the corridor to the east-most room. His speech, while formal, held a contradictory tone of informality, a singular attribute that would be reproduced many times.

The layout of the room was typical, the boy noted: lamp, floral woodwork upon the window-sill, beige curtains, a single twin bed, a table and chair, no roommate (as was recommended by the previous institution's staff).

"Is this to your liking?" the useless man commented.

"Oui, monsieur," was the annoyed response. Morrel, who saw himself as an observant individual, took note of the boy's aversion to pointless niceties.

"Could you please leave us?" the gentleman politely demanded of the other, with a different sort of smile than before. Under Morrel's domineering spell, the man did just that. As the door creaked to a close, Morrel sighed deeply. The hushed coldness of the child and the pedestrian attitude of the guide had left the room with an uncomfortable vibe.

"I understand your frustration with men such as he," Monsieur started, "but please, he's only doing the best he can."

"I know...they're all like that..."the boy trailed off. Suddenly, a beaming, yet uncharacteristic smile overtook the face of the younger. "Monsieur, would it be alright if I had some cake?"

The elderly man was overtaken with surprise. The boy's apprehension and annoyance seemed to fade into childishness with the mere mention of such a trivial thing as cake! This must be one of the oddities they told me about, he thought. He asked one of the nurses if such a thing was available and the bread was brought up a few moments later. Upon receiving it, the boy resumed his careful, introverted persona.

As he was being ignored during the devouring of the cake, Morrel remembered the appointment that was scheduled the following day. Preparing to exit the room, Morrel looked back on the boy and told him that a special appointment was made for him the following day and to be awake early, which was not a problem for the boy who, at this point, had a quite severe case of insomnia. He also vocalized the dreaded return of the useless man, who would give the boy a tour of the institution, which was returned promptly with a stoic stare from the five-year old (which can be said with certainty to have been the look of an individual decades beyond boyhood). A slight tinge of fear was felt in Morrel's gut as he proceeded back to his office. What a bizarre kid, Morrel thought, as he convinced himself that he had only imagined the look.

Alone again, the boy was left to his small sliver of remaining cake and the bitter reality of seeing the miserable guide once more. His judgment of Monsieur Morrel was still limited, but from what he had noticed, the man seemed, in all senses, to be a unique and charitable fellow. Married, late sixties, moderately meticulous, organized (as made evident by the status of his desk and the neighboring bookshelves), proud of his work (the revering eyes of the staff and his knowledge of their gazes, which were brought about by his many years there hinted of this) – these were all the observations the small child made within the first few minutes of contact with the man. While these thoughts were of course far simpler than in this description, attention to this sort of detail was already child's-play for the boy. As the guide entered the room, he witnessed the boy's piercing glance at the cake, a look that gave him the shivers.

As dawn broke, the boy straightened his small frame to peer out the window on the car that had pulled up to the front steps. The car, despite his limited knowledge on the subject, appeared far more expensive than any that he had before seen, or perhaps this was an illusion instilled in his mind by the grandeur of the gentleman who emerged from it. Donning a top hat and harboring a grand, dark wood cane, this middle-aged gentlemen stepped towards the entrance of the building. The blank expression of the boy reflected his inner state, especially regarding this man. No doubt, this man had arranged the "appointment" that Morrel had spoken of, but as to the content of the meeting, he was at quite a loss. Only moments later was he summoned to room of the Monsieur Morrel.

When the boy entered the room, the prestigious man with the top hat rose and tipped his hat in a display of unwaveringly good breeding. But upon examining the man, the child came to the conclusion that this individual was not the aristocrat he was dressed up to be. Worn fingernails, the hands of a working man, uncharacteristic facial wear, all leading to the deduction that this man had worked his way to riches and that the ostentatious entrance and adornment were not where he felt most comfortable.

"This is Monsieur Watari, he's come from England to make your acquaintance." Morrel introduced.

Upon all members taking their seats, business was promptly brought up. The child was wide-eyed to further grasp the mystery surrounding the man's purpose in this quaint, Avignon orphanage.

"Monsieur Lawliet, the reason for me traveling to this particular orphanage is to, let's say, _test_ you in order to see whether you are fit to become my traveling companion; in other words, I intend to adopt you if your character is suitable to my own."

The brevity and spontaneity of this notion took young L by surprise, for during the past year, ever since the death of his parents, no one had even hinted towards the possibility of getting to know him. The absorbent look of the child maintained the same outward appearance but his interest in the man attained a new dynamic; the future idea of assuming a shell of introverted loneliness was slowly crumbling in the face of this cryptic man, Monsieur Watari.

"Okay, monsieur," L replied simply, filling those two words with as much understanding as his young voice would permit.

I would appreciate if those who read this would review...but I suppose Mikami didn't get any thanks for his suicide now, did he? Tis would be a sad world for this Mikami if his story went without feedback!

Yours truly,

Monsieur Mikami


	3. Chapter 3: Unraveling

Chapter 3: Unraveling

The following day, L was summoned to library, which was located on the first floor, 17 child steps to the left upon reaching the stairway's landing. The number of rooms, as the child had first noted in his unbearable tour of the place, was a few rooms larger than the institutions he had previously examined. The décor, from the antique-looking cabinets, to the central chandelier, to the tortuous vine theme of the woodwork, slightly bothered him, as it simply reminded him that such decorations were often just a device for maintaining respectability; L had come to terms with the concept of every aspect of a thing contributing to its overall purpose. These institutions were lined with all sorts of appealing embellishments so as to impress potential customers or, less frequently, financial donors. Such were the musings of the boy as he strolled from his room to his destination in those golden hours of sunup.

"Ah, good morning," Watari began, "how did you sleep?" Watari possessed a distinct foreign accent and thus his French took on an appropriate sense of external perspective, a trait that L noted, and perhaps even admired.

"I don't sleep." L deadpanned. He despised idle chatter, and this fact did not change simply because he was developing a slight fondness for the middle-aged Watari.

"I see. I presume that began as you started your time in these orphanages." L merely nodded. "Well, I suppose that shouldn't be all too surprising..." L was fidgeting and toying with a strand of his hair, obviously bored by the repetitiveness of the subject matter. Moving onto the pertinent matter at hand, Watari inquired,"Would you like to begin your testing now or after breakfast, L?"

L shrugged apathetically, attempting to obscure any eagerness that could be discerned from his demeanor. He preferred to allow others to make decisions and conclusions, as he had not gained any sense of initiative, except when it involved cake, of course.

"Then we'll begin right away," Watari proclaimed with minimal enthusiasm. Aware of the probability that this orphan may just be another child consumed with the emotions of trauma from lost parents, the elderly gentlemen adopted a stern expression.

"This is an IQ test. Summarily, it will tell us how smart you are. Please look at these images, now tell me..." A little over two hours went by like this. L answered each question as concisely as necessary, sometimes answering a question Watari posed as to how a conclusion was made. The five-year old traversed the series of questions with ease, and with a pleased smile, took in the perplexed eyes and furrowed brows of his elder as the latter shuffled through one of his suitcases, obviously searching for a more difficult test.

Based upon the elder's results, the boy's intelligence quotient was measured at 188. All Watari could think of doing was administering more tests to gauge whether this could be accurate. The following two hours were taken up accordingly, as the man broke composure but slowly came to fathom that the absurdity of his first tests was, in fact, faithful. In the five years since his entrance into the orphanage scene, not one of the children he tested had ever succeeded in shocking him enough to visually display his disbelief. While it was true that he had come across many intelligent orphans in his travels, L Lawliet was the first individual of such a prodigious intellect that he had encountered.

During the final few questions of the second session, L's stomach began to emit grumbling noises, thus Watari arranged for breakfast to be prepared. By this time it was already 10:30, and as the breakfast hour for the place was at 9:00 o'clock, the dining hall was deserted for the two (this made it easier for L to eat without being pestered). L's eating habits had already been relayed on to the nurses by Monsieur Morrel, who, after witnessing the momentary vivacity that overtook the youth whenever sweets were involved, ordered the nurses to prepare an array of various deserts each day for the boy. Watari, who knew that such a meal-plan would require considerable funding to maintain, volunteered to front the bill. Regardless of the specialized food and the child's strange manner of gingerly holding his fork, Watari believed that presenting a comfortable environment for the introverted boy would be most effective in comprehending the child as a whole. Watari's monetary proclamation brought a curious look to the face of the administrator, Morrel, to which Watari responded with a brief explanation of his plans. But Morrel was more than supportive, for he truly did wish the best for the child, so he didn't press the middle-aged gentleman too much for details.

A doctor, Watari informed L, would be visiting in the afternoon around 3:00 o'clock to perform a physical evaluation (Watari desired a more thorough look at the child's health than the routine physical). L returned and was left to his thoughts in his room after dining. Thoughts swirled of extravagant sweets he had seen in the round-the-house magazines. He wondered if Watari would allow him foreign sweets if his adoption went through, which he was at this point quite certain would. He was dying to try numerous Italian cakes, but most fervently he longed to sample the strange sounding Japanese recipes. Mmm cake, L's mind beamed with exultant cheer.

The doctor, or more precisely put, the pediatrician, was a woman who couldn't have been over thirty years of age. Her outgoing attitude immediately waved flags of distaste within L, but Watari assured him that this woman, a one Dr. Cinders, was a more than capable practitioner of medicine. At once, the young doctor became puzzled by the boy's disposition, which was marked by a lazy tendency to avoid standing erect. This stooping, Cinders explained, was especially odd for one his age. The previous medical records indicated this was universally noted by nurses and doctors who performed his physicals, but not one of them could conclusively determine the reason for it.

"How is his diet and level of physical activity, Watari? I'm sure you've inquired of the past facilities," she asked in English (she preferred conversing primarily to Watari, L determined). L noticed the look of a deduction beginning to blossom in her eyes as she posed what sounded like a question to him.

"His diet strictly consists of sweets and he has an abnormal lack of activity. This has been affirmed by each facility, and I have personally witnessed how enamored the boy is with cake and how disinterested he is with running around and playing with the other children," Watari wordily, but soundly requited.

"That's certainly not surprising..." the nurse faded off. She then proceeded to run a series of formalities, such as checking his facial orifices and the examining his reflexes. Because she had entered the room after the males had, only when L stood up did Cinders notice that his hands naturally fell perpendicular to his body, a symptom she had seen once back in London. This discovery nearly clinched the doctor's initial hunch. Only then did it don on her that in the forty minutes or so that they had been in the room, the child had not spoken a word. That makes it certain, she thought.

"Watari, I believe that the boy's abnormalities are due to a condition called hyperthyroidism, also known as Graves' Disease. It's very rare in males, so that would explain why it wasn't diagnosed before!" L took the woman's vocal optimism to mean that he was perfectly healthy and would be allowed to eat all the cake he wished. The child-L was still engrossed in his cake fantasies and thus, his bias led him to this fantastically incorrect deduction. Yet, the boy had yet to try to understand any sort of medical aspect of himself, especially as related to his variance with the other children his age. He was mentally different from the rest of the children so, in his mind, the physiological contrast was of little consequence. Therefore, when Watari relayed to him that he had such an anatomical irregularity, he passed it off as irrelevant. Anyway, L was unsure what a metabolism was (as he was only five years old), so the knowledge made no difference to him.

The only aspect of the revelation that perturbed the boy was that Cinders insisted upon him trying a number of manners of sitting and asked him all sorts of questions similar to those Watari had asked him the previous day. Settling into a crouch on the chair, he suddenly felt his ability to answer the questions was sped up. Now he answered the facile test questions in almost half the time, a difference so great that Watari insisted he sit in this position as much as possible in the coming days. 'Well, if it gets me cake,' L's single-mindedness asserted.

Thousands of miles southeast of Avignon, an infant was born around this time. The baby's eyes glowed a deep mahogany, with a tinge of red overshadowing them. Perhaps this was a mere effect of the Light, but his mother felt assured that they were the eyes of one who would aspire to greatness. The firm hands of a policeman gripped his tiny body, hands that would propel this child towards his path; hands that weren't unlike those which carried a certain young orphan towards his fate.

**A/N – 1. Soichiro and Sachiko are necessary to the development of Light, so they were reanimated at a younger age in a manner similar to Watari. 2. A crouch helps the hyperthyroidism by burning calories that are brought about by a raised metabolism and L's dramatic intake of sugar.**

_Dear reader,_

_It is pivotal that we spread the word of god's return. You must share the power of god with all around you. Show them that only the power of Kira can be the guiding light of the future. I implore you, share this message of god's return with those who sympathize with our objective!_

_Pleadingly yours,_

_Mikami_


	4. Chapter 4: Selection

Chapter 4 - Selection

The little L awoke with a start, nearly falling from the chair he had dozed off on. The bizarre sitting manner suggested by Cinders the previous day was remarkable, L decided. In the past year, the youth had scarcely slept more than a couple hours each day, so he was thoroughly pleased with the success of this new-found posture. The wide-eyed look of wonder that played on his face continued as he approached the windowsill, propping himself up to venture a glance out of the glass. The calm sky was yawning forth snow, the first snow of the year, as Monsieur the administrator would later comment offhandedly. As iridescent flakes floated from the sky, the light of the early morning refracted the sun's rays, allowing for a myriad of colors to be displayed before the boy's obsidian eyes. Continuing his morning ritual, the boy utilized the lavatory adjacent to his room and continued stair-bound, blankly passing by his faceless peers. After adjourning the day's medical festivities the day before, Watari had scheduled yet another meeting the following day. L, therefore, walked dutifully towards the library from his room. Yet upon reaching the stair's landing, Watari greeted him warmly with a small coat and accompanying gloves in hand, informing him that the tests of the day would be administered outside the orphanage.

The two of them walked for quite a ways doing nothing but admiring the chilly beauty that defines French winters. L was not quite in the habit of doing so outside of his morning routine, so he became rather bored within minutes. Watari though, was fully insistent upon enjoying the briskness of the air and the pulchritude of the scenery. While L was not a whiner, he always succeeded in manipulating those around him into catering to his whims through a clever use of tact and self-awareness. Thus he hatched a simple plan.

"Monsieur Watari, why aren't you married?" L proposed, seemingly out of the blue.

Startled by the boy's sudden propensity for speech, he was doubly shocked at the intimate content of the subject. "I actually have a wife back in England. She tends after our three children when I'm away on business," the middle-aged gentleman returned falsely. I suppose this means I don't have to begin the testing today, Watari thought.

"You don't have a ring or a ring-mark on your finger." L stated matter-of-factly. He turned his whole attention on the gentleman walking to the right of him on the dirt path.

"To tell the truth, my wife is foreign and doesn't believe in wearing wedding rings." Watari tried to sell.

L, weighing the possibility and taking into consideration the slight variation in Watari's facial expression when he uttered the past two responses, quickly discerned that this was false.

"Oh, I would like to meet her during our travels," L rebutted slyly.

Noting the child's audaciousness, Watari ventured, "How are you so sure that I'll be taking you along with me?"

"You just seemed really excited in the library yesterday..." he trailed off.

"That doesn't mean I'll be taking you. As you recall, I said that I would only let you accompany me if I liked your personality."

"Why did you test me like yesterday then?" was the rhetorical, childishly simplistic response.

The child had a point, for why would an IQ test be necessary if personality was the only variable. Additionally, L had successfully called his bluff regarding the imaginary spouse.

L took Watari's subsequent silence to mean that he had been correct to doubt the man's statements. The boy was getting comfortable with being the definitive master of his domain because of his powers of perception. But he knew that he had yet to truly claim victory over Watari.

Grinning strangely and acquiring a jump to his step, the child declared: "Since we're going to be together for a while, this means you have to buy me cake!" The elder chuckled as he realized this boy's sweet tooth would most certainly outlive those currently in his mouth. He also had the curious idea that the reason for the boy talking to begin with was merely to guide them towards a cake-shop.

Arriving in the metro after around thirty-five minutes of leisurely walking towards it, the two entered Pierre's Coffee Shop & Bakery, in which Watari ordered black coffee for himself, while his companion stood glued to the desert display glass for a few moments before settling upon a freshly baked chocolate eclair. They took one of the tables furthest from the door. It being 8:22 am, the shop was nearly full to capacity. The noise was significant but enough not to be too much of a disturbance to L. While it was not apparent to Watari, who saw the child fully fixated on his pastry, L had taken in the entirety of his surroundings, from the half-blind military veteran ordering his bagel and cream cheese, to the faint hum of the radiator feeding warm air into the large room. The shop pulsated with a vibe of daily camaraderie and local comfort, qualities that even warmed L up to a little smirk, despite the fact that the women from the adjacent table were giving his sitting position a markedly firm look of distaste.

"Why is it that you eat in such a way, L?" He had seen the boy eat decidedly carefully the previous day and the question had been on his mind for some time. It was beyond him as to why a child would hold something as trifling as an item of food so gingerly.

L, mildly irked at being disrupted from his darling eclair, shrugged in reply, whilst giving Watari a don't-ask-irrelevant-questions glance. The latter marveled at how easily the boy related his wishes (usually irritated commands) with only a quick glance, no doubt because his vocabulary was severely limited by his age. This, in a strange way, sat right with Watari; at his English orphanage, the children were chatty and longed to speak with him any chance they got. But L was not in any way like the usual children he took in, he decided.

L savored the sugary mass, only occasionally sneaking a glance at Watari, who at a point reached into his coat, revealing a notebook sized envelope. The child's attention piqued, his averted his eyes from the gentleman before him to the papers that were being slid carefully out from the package. The introductory sheet had the orphanage's title printed neatly in the center with fanciful art nouveau curls taking up the surrounding margins. L, astute as ever, grasped the significance of the papers almost immediately and Watari, in turn, noticed the deduction evident on the boy's face.

"We'll depart tomorrow for England," Watari smilingly asserted, avoiding a pointless explanation. "But L, let me administer one more test. It's a personality exam. Unlike the IQ test, this one requires a stream of scenarios you will have to analyze carefully. It will occupy the whole of our flight tomorrow though, is that alright?" the man diplomatically inquired.

"Oui, Monsieur. But Watari, I have a question." The man motioned for him to go on. "If we are going to England, shouldn't I learn English before we leave?"

"You may if you wish, but most of the children at my orphanage can speak French as a second or third language and you're bound to pick up English quickly when we arrive in England, so learning before we arrive is unnecessary."

L was silent at this point, further contemplating the capacities of Monsieur Watari's orphanage. The remainder of the day went by with L and Watari touring the Avignon metro, eventually strolling back to the institution. As night pressed on, L was left to himself in his room. Lit only by the lamp, he buried himself in the English dictionary that he had insisted Watari buy for him in one of the shops they had visited while strolling about the shopping center of Avignon. Starting from A, L had breezed through to H before drifting into a crouched sleep.

_Rain crashed down from the heavens with a cacophonous patter, drowning out the world around him. A landslide of cold drops enveloped his slim frame. Amidst the soaking noise, loud church bells could be heard wailing vehemently, vying to have their importance noted. A building, blue lights, black sky, bones, blood, so much blood. The brooding bells beckoned boisterously the entire time, hammering his mind with metallic vibrations. Falling, a sick sense of vertigo pressed at his heart. _

As beads of light filtered in, L recovered from the nocturnal plunge from his chair. He was sure that his side would be aching for days. Moreover, he could not quite understand the significance or even comprehend the foreign images that posed themselves to him during his slumber. But this was not a day for complaint, for he and Watari were airport bound. This being the child's first flight, natural fear seized him momentarily, but fright was nothing in the face of logic, L mentally declared.

The violent, rumbling engine of the private plane initiated the journey. Watari proceeded without hesitation upon boarding the aircraft to drill L, asking him a thorough compendium of personality test questions, all meant to reap results from the situation-based scenarios that were posed. The questions were quite diverse, varying from small, minute events (like actions involving children his age), to occurrences involving inner reflection (how he feels and reacts to events such as bullying and other turmoil). Slowly, L's profile was beginning to come to life, expressing the boy's mental inclinations as well as his level of involvement with the external world. Watari used five categories to define L's personality: Openness, Conscientiousness, Extraversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism. Watari discerned from the results that, while L was especially gifted in analyzing the emotions of others and understanding the necessity of trifles like organization and discipline, he was severely limited in his ability to relay his own feelings to others. His default reserved demeanor was a sort of distancing technique, and it was manifest to such an extent that Watari wondered if the boy could possibly be sociopathic.

The child, in two of the categories (Extraversion and Agreeableness), scored so negatively that the gentleman almost thought it necessary to repeat those areas of the test. After contemplating L's past and the disaster that thrust him into the orphanage system, Watari came to the conclusion that the results were actually fitting. Perhaps the most ardent of the negative aspects, the boy seemed to question everyone around him and their motives for doing practically everything and anything. In the series of questioning, for example, L had directly questioned Watari as to his reason for traversing the European continent searching for bright orphans. Watari had barely escaped the line of questioning that followed by hastily (but nonchalantly) pressing the flight attendant for a slice of chocolate cake adorned with strawberries. L, no doubt, would keep such questions in the back of his mind until answered, or rather, until he arrived at the correct conclusions himself. The boy, who seemed at this point to be slowly lightening up to the man, was still overtly cautious and doubtful. Hopefully time mends the dreary view L has on the world, Watari hopefully reflected.

The landing went smoothing and the pair continued on into the sleek black car that was waiting for the prestigious man outside of the airport. During the drive to Winchester, Watari took the opportunity to describe in detail the queer attributes of the facility they were approaching.

"First of all," Watari stated, "you will be assigned a single letter and that will be your title amongst the fellow children. Because your name is conveniently a single digit, 'L' will be your only means of address when living at the orphanage. You are, under no circumstances, to reveal your surname. The most prized aspect of this orphanage is the anonymity and security that it provides the residents. Is that clear?"

L answered "It is, Mr. Watari" in a heavy French accent. The boy wished to begin speaking English as soon as possible, for its tremendous value in the world was not lost on him. Slightly impressed by the child's devotion to attempting to speak English, he continued:

"Secondly, enter knowing that each of the children there are far smarter than average children. They have been gathered from all across the globe and represent every nationality."

"So you _have_ traveled beyond Europe..." L commented, harkening back to their pedestrian discussion the day before.

"Lastly and most importantly, this orphanage is quite unlike those you've lived in during the past year. A major part of your experience at this institution is education. At Wammy's House, the students are nurtured to pursue their own personal interests as far as they possibly can. It is my belief that the truly gifted children of the world should play a more central role in its future. I founded the institution with the firm hope that one of the children there would eventually bring great good to the world." Watari paused to slip a comment to the driver before continuing.

"In the coming years, you will be asked to choose a subject that appeals to you, but in the meantime, you will follow a specialized curriculum suited to your learning pace. I believe you should be able to progress quite quickly given your intelligence. Here's the place! Now please, L, remember what I've said."

The child's mouth stood slightly agape as he eyed the mansion out of the windshield. The grandiosity of the place was such that it would astound any onlooker. A clock tower loomed imposingly to the right of the manor, while the manor itself was an impressive monolith that radiated an aura of austerity. Adjacent to the primary building was a stern brick structure toting a cross and a bell tower. The feel of potent sublimity was magnified by the overcast weather engulfing the Winchester sky. L, upon exiting the car, felt the sudden inclination to grasp Watari's hand. This was the site of his greatness to come, L determined. Without Watari, he would be collecting dust in the normalcy that defined the orphanages he experienced in France. L, basking in the power the institution gave off, merely stood before the grandeur of his new home, clutching Watari's gloved extremity. He suddenly felt the surge of fate wash over him. Unlike the hand of the rescuing policeman over a year ago, this was a hand he clung to of his own free will. This was more than the clutching of a group of digits, it was the clutching of his own future, a future that he himself would craft. The scene of Wammy's House, bathed in the brilliant English snow, instilled within L an epiphany that would guide him to change the world using his _own_ hands. The slow chime of the church bell abruptly sounded, filling the frosty air with the soundtrack of L's coming years.

**A/N – Apologies for the delay. To satisfy the avid reader, I decided to lengthen this chapter. One more of L and then I'm onto god. Fans of god, please have patience therefore. It has also come to my attention that I am not keeping with the norm in that I have omitted a disclaimer. This story is about god, I am merely relaying what he wishes me to. Thus, I claim no ownership of creating the Death Note world.**

_The growth of divinity beckons forth the accompanying growth of its followers. Please keep this in mind, fellow advocates of justice._

_Sincerely god's,_

_Mikami the Meek_


	5. Chapter 5: Glare

Chapter 5 - Glare

As his early years passed by, L quickly mastered rhetoric in several different languages, notably his native French, adopted English, and a variety of other European languages including Italian, Spanish, and German. His also rose quickly in mathematics, breezing through standard math up through calculus. But L was particularly taken by statistics, pursuing the subject until his proficiency in it rivaled rising mathematicians. Another academic passion of L's was sociology, which was quickly paired with current events. The two of them converged, linking L to his true calling.

Wammy's House was equipped with the most up to date technology, and as the year was 1993, television was obviously readily available. L requested that, in aiding with his language and current event studies, he should be allowed the privilege of access to foreign television. L's tendency, though, was to spend hours each day browsing the news channels of the countries whose tongues he was versed in. It was here that L began to truly understand the evils that people were capable of. The crimes of serial killers and other terrible criminals were broadcast on the nation-wide news channels of each country. L became relatively accustomed to the news stories after a while, acknowledging a desensitization within himself. Despite this, he came to the conclusion that he must take action to rid the world of such high-profile criminals.

Thus, L (with the help of Watari), took on case after case, solving each within two or so days. The ease with which he brought these despicable people to justice inevitably led to a stirring boredom within him. L felt bitterly compromised. His desire to take on cases and bring criminals to justice was coming face-to-face with his tremendous propensity to become bored without a challenge. Therefore, L took an oath then (when barely eleven years of age) that he would only tackle cases that succeeded in drawing his interest.

The years drug on in this manner. L, though it would have probably displeased Watari, often ensured that he was occupied by exaggerating the difficulty of the cases presented to him. He developed a tendency to lengthen the amount of time before apprehending the suspect and while this certainly increased the probability that the culprit would strike again, L usually used this to his advantage. By waiting for their next move, L lured them out of hiding, having pinpointed their next victim and the circumstances that would invariably surround their would-be next crime. Violent burglars, ruthless serial killers, conning extortionists, die-hard rapists, L convicted them all. Yet he was repeatedly drawn to the notion that perhaps the victims were beginning to matter less than his desire to satiate his own boredom. Pounded by the onset of adolescence, the young detective began questioning his motives for catching criminals. Was his pursuit of criminals for him or for society? Or if for both, which mattered more to him? Well-read in philosophy of the past millennium, L began to split the world into a mental dichotomy of interest vs. disinterest, and good vs. evil. Yet after trying his biased brain for hours, the youth could not claim to understand how he fit into the divided world he so clearly saw. He did not struggle to understand the objective truths of the world, but could not, in his greatest effort, yield any conclusion as to whether his actions were purely selfish indulges or tallies in the world's book of justice. Or even more, whether he sought good over evil, or rather the good_ of being occupied_ over the evil of _stagnation_. And who was he to judge and convict criminals when he was beginning to think of the whole thing like a string of games? Frustrated by his own doubts, L did his best to keep his mind on the cases and avoid such ideas of uncertainty, for he knew that eventually that this time of inner questioning would end.

The period of his adolescence came and went, and sure enough, this uncertainty did vanish for the most part. With the end of his boyhood, L entered a new chapter of existence. Having long since abandoned the wearing of shoes in a domestic setting (as they limited the comfort of his sitting position), L was beginning to take on the appearance of an adult, despite many of his habits remaining in the realm of childhood. L especially savored these years at Wammy's House, knowing that upon turning eighteen, he would have to leave the orphanage and pursue his career of criminology on his own.

It was during this time that Watari brought to the institution a handful of geniuses (taking code names A, B, X, Y, and Z). Their powers of deduction almost rivaled those of L's, but various qualities of each barred them from being able to match wits with L. They each averaged around five years his junior. This similarity in their ages led them to forming rivalries against one another. They divided into three groups, with A and X being together, Y and Z joining forces, and B forming his own group. Despite their social separations, each of them was united by their continual adoration for L, which L shrewdly (albeit subtly) took into mind. These children virtually deified him, emulating almost precisely the original's curriculum and habits from when he was their age. They continued like this, following their single-minded goal to follow in L's footsteps. L paid them little mind at that time, though, for their presence had no weight on his current crime-solving fixation.*

But as mentioned, L's final years were his happiest, for he began truly appreciating Wammy's World. L's departure from his facility was growing ever closer, causing Watari to thrust himself into a bothered, workaholic stupor; L, the paramount example of his dream becoming reality, was soon to leave him. Consumed with attending to L's forensic pursuits, Watari scoured the globe for the most urgent, and most difficult cases he could find. As Watari's wealth had plateaued at an unreasonable height due to his patents (the source of his riches), he took it upon himself to appoint scouts to travel the globe to find individual's whose intelligence could possibly rival L's. L thus became the centerpiece of the orphanage, both occupying the founder personally and becoming the model upon which each orphan's success was based. L had discreetly infiltrated the foundation of the facility, becoming the standard of success and a basis for a more rigorous work-ethic within the students. Despite all his fame, all the attention personally displeased and annoyed him, so he avoided the spotlight that those around him attempted to shine. The genius only enjoyed the company of Watari, and took any opportunity to avoid his proteges. L lived these days in relative comfort, continuing with his usual capturing of criminals up until October 24, 1999.

At this point, L was seventeen and his next birthday was approaching rapidly. As an homage to the warmth that had been shown to him by Watari since the icy date of his arrival, L decided to answer the call to a case that had claimed the lives of twelve young orphans in his native France. By this time, L had growth complacent with the supremacy of his mind over those of criminals. Examining the case once over, L saw nothing particularly suspect about it besides the convict himself. The unnamed assailant's modus operandi was making a shallow incision in the shape of a six into the right cheek of each of the orphans' faces. Performing his crimes in isolated parts of Paris, he transported the victims to and from the kill sight(s). The fate of each orphan was to end up within a sealed garbage bag floating in pieces down the Seine River, along with the murder instruments. The murderer was meticulous and left little to no evidence behind.

L had come to learn about this case on his own and, deviating from their normal arrangement, had asked Watari to acquire a copy of the case file from the police. By this time, Watari had gained significant notoriety among the police forces of many countries, as well as Interpol, who all revered him as the go-between between the normal police officers of their region and the unfathomable, potent force that L had become. Thus, gaining access to police files had become a simple task for the duo. In keeping with the rules of Wammy's House, Watari never disclosed any details about himself or the faceless entity that was L. Taking every possible precaution, Watari (early on in their crime endeavors) had begun donning a disguise when dealing directly with law-enforcement, which included a full black cloak and rudimentary voice modifier. He even went as far as to adopt a cavalier, solemn persona. Furthermore, the gentleman began to imitate L's ever-present distrust, so as to become as objective a force as possible. These were the sort of actions that Watari displayed when he obtained the police file from the French authorities. L certainly had the advantage in being a hidden force against the assailant in this case, thus his approach was especially haughty going in, an aspect of the investigation even Watari failed to notice.

L, insistent upon he himself coming to France to investigate the evidence, had Watari book them into a modest hotel overlooking the Seine. The morning after arriving, L had Watari arrange private time with the corpse fragments and the remainder of the evidence. Harvested from the evidence lockers, L personally eyed each of the twelve murder weapons one by one, whilst simultaneously savoring an ornate danish with a steaming cup of coffee-spiked sugar. The young man had come to realize that regardless of the gore present in a case-file, he was still entirely capable of enjoying each and every one of his sugary delights. He came close to recanting this realization, though, as he took an in-depth look at the twelfth victim, a paled-skinned girl of nine named Marie Deneuve. If L had been anyone but himself, the shock of seeing the slightly decomposed, detached limbs of a prepubescent girl would have left him a babbling, tear-producing mess. But L was objective; he had to take note of the miniscule facts that could perhaps be written, figuratively of course, on the girl's dead body. Only after the case would L reflect on her pitiful, deceased face.

One of the immediate deductions L made was that the perpetrator must have had medical, or even surgical training. Analysis of the kill-tools and the body revealed that Mademoiselle Deneuve had been methodically been cut into pieces post-mortem using a large butcher knife that was found in the kill-bag. Why cut off the limbs? L questioned, taking a rest from the ingestion of sweet things to stare searchingly at the sights of detachment. He deduced it was merely for more facile disposal. The regular police force had done an efficient job, for included in the police report was a plethora of photographs taking during autopsy that gave a greater sense for the motive of the bizarre string of murders. Provided in the case report were a total of exactly fifty-four photos of victim number twelve, which provided a panoramic perspective on visualizing the child's limbs put back near to where they originally resided.

L continued to ponder the psychological profile of the suspect. Due to the gender ratio of surgeons and medical personnel in Paris, combined with the female gender of his victims, L deduced that the killer was most likely male. He at once ordered the French police to gather a full report of male medical practitioners in Paris and the adjacent cities, especially focusing on the cities with direct access to the Seine. L began at once to attempt to discern the type of person who would perform these particular types of murders. After typing out a series of notes, he delivered his report via Watari to the police force:

"_While it cannot be certain at this point whether the suspect is French or not, it can be reasonably assumed that his current base of operations is located in Paris or in a surrounding region. The psychological profile seems to lead to the assumption that the individual in question has some sort of mental stigma, whether related to sociopathy or societal hatred. A list of individuals discharged from mental facilities should be populated and compared to the list of medical personnel._

_The selection of child victims, especially orphans, no doubt indicates that there is a biting motivation for his crimes. Whether it be that he himself is an orphan or whether he has some relation to the orphanage system, it can not be ignored that such a connection may exist. The disposal of the corpses, though, is inconsistent with such an emotion-fueled motive for murder. Or perhaps the suspect's caution prevents attachment to his victims. Either way, the possibility of another murder is highly probable, I venture to say that it may be as high as ninety-percent given his prior pattern. It appears in the case log that a new body turns up in the river every six days, so this means that there are a mere two days before his next crime. _

_-L"_

While the police were handling the cross-referencing, L decided that he would take a stroll down to the river bank to try to garner a deeper sense of the criminal. He informed Watari of his plan, to which the older man offered accompaniment. L, who knew that this would be good practice for his individual effort upon leaving the orphanage, told Watari that he would be alright and that the older man should attempt to gather further information from the police. L finished his sugary breakfast and departed, toting a series of French maps that he had taken with him from England.

Chromatic autumnal leaves fell and were beginning to gather on the ground as L walked river-bound. Once he reached the riverbank, L examined the speed at which the river was flowing. L began thinking: W_hile the time of day was different for the discovery of each body, the location of drop-off seems to match up. The first body, for example, was discovered four kilometers south of Paris fourteen hours after it had been placed in the water. Body number two was found six kilometer north of Paris after a period of twelve hours and fifteen minutes of floating. The rest of the bodies also collaborate this theory. This information, combined with the speed of the river, should yield the location of drop-off. _L proceeded to calculate how far up the river drop off would have had to be. Around forty-five kilometers south of Rouen, L decided. Returning to the hotel room after after purchasing cheesecake for contemplation (L took every possibility to consume brain-powering saccharine-infused treats), L awaited Watari's return. Once the gentleman arrived, L asked for a drive.

In the car, Watari briefed L on the details he was able to discern from the French police's data. There were six people who appeared on both lists. Watari had taken the liberty to collect the asylum information for each individual, as well as psychological exams performed on each before attaining their medical licenses. As L took a look at each file, none of them appeared to be capable of these sorts of crime. Two of the six were female, and the other four had relatively minor cases of schizophrenia. None of them had any prior record of criminal offense and each were leading successful, honest lives. L wondered if their had been anything overlooked on the part of the police. In any event, L told Watari to come to a halt (Watari had begun driving L places for anonymity's sake). The area around them was one with an excess of vegetation. The location was, as L expected, especially isolated. The dirt road was slim, so Watari parked the vehicle in a clearing opposite the river. Only the monotonous whispering betrayed any proximity to water.

"Watari, the suspect may be depositing his bodies into the river from here or the surrounding region." L motioned generally.

The pair continued towards the riverbed. On the opposite side of the Seine, there were vast rows of corn, no doubt the property of a local farmer. As L and Watari eyed the surrounding area, both of them settled on a hollow some way down their side of the river. Discreet, isolated, and oddly suited to this kind of crime, L listed mentally. It was the perfect (if such a word may be used) place for a murder. After footing their way towards it, L noticed a human-made path in the greenery coming from their north. Following it, the two came to an opening not dissimilar from that in which their vehicle had been parked.

After conferring and coming to the conclusion that this was the optimal place in the area, the two returned to their car. Upon the windshield was a single sheet of paper upon which was written a large cloister black "V". After Watari scrambled and failed to find the one who left the note, L vocalized: "There is no reason for us to stay in this area, Watari; the perpetrator, if he wished to be found, would no doubt have presented himself instead of merely leaving his calling card."

"Very well." Watari knew better than to question L's logic. After years with the young man, he knew that inquiring led no where when the young man was in the midst of a case.

L, tossing over the significance of the letter in his mind, fell into a deep silence on the way back to the hotel. _This appears to be a direct challenge from this V. Why else would any normal person leave such a cryptic message directly for Watari and I? But how would the suspect know of our involvement in this investigation? The only ones who know of my presence in France are the members of the police force..._

As L entered their hotel room, aggravation filled him when he saw on their television the same cloister black "V" as on their windshield. The hotel staff had witnessed a tall blonde-haired man ascend to their level, but they could not remember any more about him.

"Watari, we must find another hotel at once. Staying here would, of course, be very dangerous. In the meantime, I shall go to the police station myself wearing your disguise."

Watari, taken aback by L's audacity in the face of probable danger, at once objected. L was persistent and eventually reasoned the aging man into grudging acceptance.

"Members of the Parisian police, according to the police information found in the case files, L has asked that a patrol of the area around the Seine is to be launched starting in two days, on October the 26th. Please get in contact with the police forces of Rouen and Melun and ask for their cooperation. We will bring this grievance child-killer to justice. "

The police force readily backed this plan. Quickly, each member scrambled to unite the police power of the three cities. The banner of justice was raised high and enthusiasm over the certainty of catching the perpetrator abounded in the room. But L did not share in this emotion, as he had business to attend to. Watari-L then arranged a meeting with the police chief.

After spending around two hours at the police station, Watari-L departed. He stopped into an adjacent restaurant to revert to his normal appearance. Back onto the street, he sought out a donut shop that was only two blocks away. Biting into his sugar-coated sweetie, L felt a dubious presence behind him. "Watari," a voice called. As L turned around, a figure with a shining object in his hand rushed at him. Barely in time, L was able to shift his body in time to avoid a fatal stabbing, the cold blade entering his body only inches from his heart. The assailant was masked, but as he was forced away by bystanders, L noticed a faint flash of blonde hair before his vision faded to black.

Carried, the knowledge of being carried. Running, desperate running. Then nothing. The next moment, L was waking up in a hospital. The brightness of the room required getting used to. Watari was in the room, L noticed. Trying to sit up into a crouch, L felt the agonizing wound beginning to bleed again. Regardless, lying down had become unbearable to him. Watari, obviously distraught with worry, understood the young man better than anyone. His priorities were based upon his logic. His logic was only at full power when in a crouch, so Watari remained silent when L was painfully sitting up.

As the nurse came in, she chided L for assuming such a position, for he was already beginning to bleed through his bandages. "Please Monsieur, tell your son to lie down." Acknowledging Watari's father-son ploy as well as the necessity of resuming a reclined position, L reluctantly obliged the nurse. After performing a few tests, the nurse retreated out the door.

"_Father_," L awkwardly began, "the suspect is most certainly connected with the police. Please check the registry for men of tall stature with blonde hair who could be privy to information pertaining to the case."

After exiting the room to speak to the police, Watari returned and relayed the information he acquired onto L. "Yes, it follows that the perpetrator would be such a person," the latter said to himself.

The next day, a blonde-haired man was arrested in the midst of the long corn-stalks, charged with the murder of thirteen victims. He was apprehended with blood on his hands, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, he was apprehended with garbage bags in hand. L, satisfied with the solving of another case, wrote up his personal case report for the "V Orphan Murders" (the title that had been granted to the case when L had sent the police the letter and they had filed it into evidence).

_The police chief was briefed about the ruse that was being put in place and was asked to make the arrest. It was of the utmost importance for the entirety of the police station to believe that a day would elapse before the onset of the surveillance at the drop-site. Police leakage of information was made evident by the knowledge of our presence in France by the criminal in question. The fact he was able to track our movements also made this apparent. The perpetrator, a one Victor Dumas, first came under my radar when I took into consideration the extensive array of photographs. It was his means of returning to his crime, in addition to physically returning to the drop-site. The steady hand of a mortician was necessary for the precision that was seen in the case. After his arrest, a more thorough background check revealed a severely damaged individual whose sister was killed decades earlier and deposited into the Seine. He and his six-year old sister were found to have been orphans abused by the system. They had become isolated, so when his sister was murdered, he was all alone in the tyrannical face of the French orphanage system. At eighteen, he was spit out and entered the only career he knew would allow him to be close to his sister. Once he had integrated and won the trust of the French officers, he began the murders. I believe they were a twisted attempt to relive the tragedy of his childhood and to remember the sister that he loved. Of course, this man was a shrewd, debauched individual who manipulated the police into omitting him from the medical practitioner data. He also killed innocent girls, but it is still puzzling as to why he left those letters for Watari and I. It seems incongruous when analyzed in the context of the crime._

_Regardless, this case marks the beginning of my life away from Wammy's House. Watari, due to the injuries I sustained, arranged for his departure from the orphanage as well in order to accompany me. While still the owner, an acquaintance of his I had met before, Mr. Roger, would be taking over his place as active head of Wammy's House. Watari has since devoted himself to training himself with weaponry, as to be able to handle violent situations which may face us in the future. _

_-October 31, 1999_

Approximately one month later, a twelve year old boy was led up the steps of a certain Avignon orphanage. Entering a meticulously decorated room, he was introduced to a one Monsieur Morrel.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, V," The man cheerily announced. The boy responded with a quick look, a glance that almost appeared cruel. Morrel couldn't help but be reminded of a similar glance he had received from a certain other boy in that same room some years before.

**A/N – stars (*) mark possible side-stories in the future. My chapters seem to be growing in size, but it is proportional to my increased excitement over god making his entrance in the next chapter. Another note, while I am on god's side, I shall relay an objective rendition of the story; it shall not be biased by my personal beliefs.**

**Not my story, but god's (Death Note)**

_For the Light that guides the word, _

-Mikami


	6. Chapter 6: Justice

Chapter 6 - Justice

Light Yagami's elementary and middle school years were especially marked by universal popularity. Love and regard were showered upon him unmercifully. He took well to being the center of attention, basking in it as one would bask in loving rays of sunlight. In fact, in many cases, he had begun manipulating the Japanese world around him to cater to his desire for attention. They flattered him, but as time elapsed and he went from middle to high school, their praise grew to be a hollow, repugnant thing. His popularity was at such a level in his schools that each person felt like they knew him personally. But what did they truly know about him? the young man found himself thinking. It was at this point that attention stopped meaning anything to him.

While his aggravation with the commoners around him certainly excited his distaste, he never felt them wander into the realm of his _hatred_. The only people that he truly despised were criminals. Light based his entire life upon following the rules, becoming the most glistening role model for those around him. Perfection became not a goal for him, but rather a manner of living. How dare criminals challenge the foundation upon which his entire life was rooted? This philosophy was directly inspired by the intense devotion of his father to solving crime. His father, Soichiro, was the very concept of justice and hard work personified. Working to the bone for little to no commendation, his father dutifully tracked down the criminals of Japan, eventually making his way up to the rank of police chief. While not particularly gifted in intelligence, his father displayed the concept that resonated most deeply within Light's heart: the common citizen devoting his entire existence, at whatever the cost, to the betterment of society. When only a boy, Light had happened upon a rather obscure murder in America that occurred many years before. A soldier during the Gulf War, who fervently loved and desired to return to his own country, had been gunned down by his wife's new-found lover upon arrival. The motivation behind such a grievous offense was merely to claim his life insurance money. Appalled by the wife's corruption, Light became filled with rage over this model citizen's pitiable death. Thus, the young man pledged early on in life (at merely eleven years old), spurred on by his father's love of justice and this sorrowful case, that he would follow in his father's footsteps in tracking down and incriminating the filth around him.

Academically speaking, Light was a prodigy. Never attaining anything less than the highest possible mark on each exam, he became accustomed to being smarter than everyone around him. Light never flaunted his intelligence, instead he relied merely on his propensity for modesty. Being modest meant that his peers would view his superiority not as a threat, but rather, as an example. This was Light's end-goal; he wished for Japan to correspond to his visions of it. He longed to change the world by example, but this endeavor soon proved to be especially futile. Light's abilities became assigned to prodigious luck, rather than unwavering hard work, a fact that made the world's impression of him one of awe and praise, rather than one of emulation and attainability. This saddened Light, but led him to an important reality: his desired world was far-off, a distance dream. He could only do his best to fit into the mold set forth by his father to improve the world with his own hands.

Soichiro Yagami realized when Light was quite young that his son was blessed with nearly unparalleled intelligence. The impression that he got was that his son had surpassed his own mental abilities when only nine years old. This would have put Soichiro off had he not witnessed firsthand how devoted Light was to hard work. Toiling day and night, Light studied and studied, expanding his knowledge as much as he could. Never did he see his son idly pursuing frivolous, petty trifles. It is difficult to fathom how pleasingly content Soichiro was when he realized that Light's work-ethic stemmed from his own. How memorable the words were to him when he heard his son declare, "Father, I'll become a police officer just like you when I'm old enough. I'll bring criminals to justice and create a better world in your footsteps." Never would Soichiro be more proud than when his barely eleven year old son uttered those words.

The avidity of his son's desire to join the police force led the chief to bring home a case one night when Light was around fifteen. A serial arsonist had begun torching buildings in the suburban section of Shinjuku. Light had heard about it from the news and already had gauged the suspect's pattern. So when the file was presented to Light, he had already deduced the majority of its content on his own (even exceeding the report).

Going by night, the arsonist pinpointed the gas line of each household, proceeding either to break into the house or to dig in order to find it. From there, he would puncture the line, allowing natural gas to accumulate in the surrounding area (if in the house), before attaching a rubber hose securely to the point he punctured. He would then lead the hose into the main section of the house via an open window or some other point of access. His means of starting the actual fire was currently unknown, for neighbors never saw anyone making an escape after the fire had begun nor had they seen any assailant manually set the fires. While usually working on abandoned houses, he also settled for houses where there was only one inhabitant. The perpetrator gave the homeowner a few minutes to hear the gas and clear out before the place was set ablaze. One resident had been severely burned, for he had failed to hear the hissing of gas before it had ignited. Witnesses had only seen a shadowy, abstract silhouette, and had yet to come forward with any conclusive information relating to the suspect's appearance. This is what Light had been able to come up with on his own, and much of it was omitted from the police's knowledge. But the file he reviewed with his father did succeed in giving a geographic analysis of the burn sites. A comprehensive map of the region littered with small fire emblems denoted the houses that were victimized.

Light, at once, had begun coming up with a correlation between each of the locations. Taking into account the proximity of each residence from one another, Light came up with a series of next possible targets. While Light could not understand this individual's reasons for disturbing the darkness of the Shinjuku region, he could use the facts to create a picture of what the assailant saw when choosing the houses he would burn, as well as a picture as to what kind of fellow the arsonist was.

"Dad," Light began after a while of running through the data, "would it be possible to get the real estate records of the area? In particular, could you have the police find all the houses in Shinjuku that only one or two people live in, as well as houses that have no one living in them?"

Soichiro told Light that he could have that information for him in a matter of two days or so. He was surprised at how quickly his son had a plan in order to single out target-houses. But Light wasn't finished, for he continued:

"Also, I think we can assume that the person who's doing these arsons lives in the region. But even more than that, I believe this person has a background in plumbing or something similar. A normal arsonist would use an accelerant, like gasoline, to start the fires, but this person instead uses the victim's own home against it. Moreover, they know exactly where the gas line is located for each house. This would take the expertise of someone who knew about how houses in the area were built."

A impressed smile came to his father's face, knowing full well that this case was coming swiftly closer to being solved. His son had already come to deduce what kind of person they were looking for, the most key element in solving a crime like this, and he was already well on his way to discerning exactly where the arsonist would strike next.

"This is great, Light. I'll have the station get right on it. I'll call them right away. I'm sure this information will give us a major breakthrough in the case, especially after you've looked at it!"

Until the information he asked for came back, Light was content to continue on his normal schedule of excellent grades and flawless behavior. He pondered, though, what possible motivation this individual could have in lighting up the otherwise peaceful Shinjuku suburbia. Light's musings on this subject were as follows:

_Could it be for personal motives against the owners? No, of course not. They would be in their houses if that was it. Maybe it's a message of opposition to the rising housing market. No, it can't be. I mean, that would be really strange motivation for setting fires. It must be something more practical. Why would I commit arson? Ugh, that's just it: I wouldn't. _[Light takes a deep breath] _I must be thinking about this too hard. Maybe it's as simple as they just like setting fires. But regardless of how long I think about this, it doesn't really matter until I get the data. No, the reason for this person doing this doesn't matter; as long as they're brought to justice..._

Nevertheless, Light brooded over motive for a good portion of the two days during which the police were researching the housing records and individuals whose jobs gave them knowledge of the gas lines. But in those two days, Light made little headway, as he was unable to put himself in the eyes of the arsonist despite deliberating so extensively. This frustrated Light unimaginably. There was nothing in the world he hated more than coming short of the correct answer. Yet upon examining the information his father eventually brought him, Light eventually came to the correct conclusion. But even better than a conclusion, the information brought him a plan.

Meanwhile, in Los Angelos, USA, a rogue member of Wammy's House had begun a series of murders. A young woman, Naomi Misora, was drafted by L to bring said member to justice. Stolen from a flaming suicide, that individual was sentenced to life in prison, due to the dictations of the great detective and Misora's quick thinking. The case being solved, L's contact with Naomi Misora led to his mastery of capoeira, which he, in mimicry of Naomi, would begin utilizing for self-defense. This and Misora's trust were key elements of the legacy of Beyond Birthday's crimes.

Justice was abounding in the world, especially among the two detective. Both were actively extinguishing the resilient flames of crime, but neither were aware of a stubborn, godly phoenix on the horizon. From the embers of a past life long forgotten would emerge the destructive might of the Death Note. And with fire in the coming days, the boy V's cruel glances grew increasingly more choleric and morose.

**A/N Please inform me whether my crime synopses thus far have been tolerable. This arsonist and the L's murderer in the previous chapter were difficult to write, so please comment on them. Additionally, I wish the reader my most sincere apologies if my handling of L or god have displeased or offended you.**

_Through the inferno will emerge a Light brighter than any the world has ever seen. Dispersing the darkness, a world will be created devoid of evil, teeming with the conscious feeling of active justice._

_Morosely yours, _

_-Mikami_


	7. Chapter 7: Selection

Chapter 7 - Selection

The arsonist, or rather, arsonists had begun their fiery pillaging in response to layoffs in the work force. The first arson snowballed into several copy-cat offenses. Light deduced this from the data which he received from his father, which brought it to Light's attention that the majority of the empty houses of the area were unoccupied due to the constrictive Tokyo housing market squeezing their inhabitants out. It was then that the possibility of multiple culprits came to his mind. Informing his father to arrest each individual in secret, Light then proceeded to capture each arsonist. The arsonists all ended up being extremely embittered, hopeless individuals whose houses had been taken from them because of their inability to keep up with rising taxes, combined with their exorbitant mortgages. Driven to the point of desperation, many petitions had been passed for financial assistance, as Light recalled from the news of the previous few weeks. He then applied a probable motive to the crime, and upon ambushing the first of the arsonists, Light's theory showed to be veritable. Within the week, the fiery rampage that afflicted the Shinjuku area came to a smoldering finale.

With the proficiency and leadership that Light displayed in dealing with this string of arsons, his father was inclined to bring home more serious cases, including rape and murder. As each new case arrived, Light gave orders to the police through his father, all of which turned out to lead directly to the perpetrator in question. Astounded, Soichiro became sure that his son would make a superb police officer. For with his intelligence, coupled with his natural inclination at solving crimes, Light was unsurpassed in his approach...or so his father thought. But it is worth note that Soichiro largely kept his son's involvement in the more violent cases to himself, as to maintain his son's safety.

Years later, as Light was in his second year at Toho University, news broadcasts began spreading news of inexplicable deaths among police officers. They had started in the center of England and had spread across the water to France. Light paid them little to no mind. While certainly interesting, he could not concern himself too much with these strange occurrence, for he was still only a teenager rooted in his academic studies; there was nothing substantial that he could do, given his circumstances. It was not until nearly a year later that Light realized just how urgent the situation actually was.

As the mysterious deaths swept there way into the East, concern rose for the safety of the officers of the Asian countries. Light was helpless in the face of such a vast pandemic. He scrambled to think up any plausible reason for why members of the police forces around the world would be dying in such a way. Perhaps it's some sort of biological warfare, he reasoned. But he could not come up with any more than this when, on the thirteenth of August, 2010, Soichiro Yagami died of a heart attack.

A year prior to this, the detective named L got wind of an mysterious group of deaths in his adopted homeland England. Beginning in London, the deaths spread out, steadily coming to encompass law-men of all across the United Kingdom. The policemen all died of sudden, inexplicable heart attacks. The sleuth, immediately tracing the starting point of the deaths to London, soon came to an impasse as the entirety of the European continent began exhibiting the same unexplainable instances. It went from France and Spain to Belgium and Germany. _This could not be mere coincidence_, L figured. _No, this has to be murder. Inexplicable mass murder._ _I must lure the one facilitating these murders out into the open._

**The present, October 12, 2010.**

An ornate W appeared on the screen of a computer in Japan. "L, we've received a message from Kira. It was addressed to Deneuve."

"Please send it right away, Watari." The dark, forlorn room caused an vibratory echo. L's life had come to a standstill; criminals syndicates had supplanted the normally stationed police. The world had been launched into anarchy. L had endeavored fervently for the past year to try to pinpoint the murderer, but whenever L felt he had cornered him, a new country would have its police eradicated. The detective had checked plane records, reviewed boat boarding lists, attempted to challenge Kira directly, via the media, but this message was the first tangible proof that an actual person was responsible; L had begun thinking, unreasonably (he reasoned), that the mafia of several countries had combined to wipe out the entirety of the world's police force. Yet that seemed so incongruous with the scope and methodical approach of the killer. Perhaps the note will shed some light on this, L hopefully cognated.

"**_Deneuve,_**

**_There is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this worLd; there is onLy the comparison of one state with another. Only a man who has feLt ultimate despair is capabLe of feeLing ultimate bLiss._** **_It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to Live. _**

_**Roam, Fear, Die. **_

_**-V"**_

L mulled over in his mind the meaning of this message. He immediately recognized the origin of the opening quotation as being spoken by Edmond Dantes, the protagonist of The Count of Monte Cristo. _Vengeance would certainly be a plausible cause for such a multitude of similar murders. Moreover, this would be consistent with his signature V...but haven't I seen a V like this before.?..Yes, of course! In the V Orphan case. Could there possibly be a connection? While the possibility is less than 10%, it is worth examining...but the capitalized L's must mean that, while the letter is addressed to Deneuve, it must have been meant for myself. That brings the possibility of a similarity up to 25%...But why would the message be addressed to Deneuve when obviously meant for me? Is Kira therefore trying to make a connection with himself and France? It seems quite probable, for why else would someone as elusive as Kira send a message coincidentally French-oriented? But why disclose this information? It would be far more advantageous to keep in the shadows, and why do this now? As for the closing phrase, it could certainly apply_ _to the main body of the message, but its placement seems too awkward, too contrived..._

Suddenly Watari's emblem reappeared on L's laptop, "L, it has come to my attention that a young, Japanese man, Light Yagami, the son of the now deceased Japanese chief of police, is attempting to locate L. He has come in contact with the remnants of the FBI, seeking to join their ranks secretly to fight Kira. After being accepted based upon considerable intelligence and skill, they briefed him about the existence of L, and he has been trying to contact you since for several weeks. He says that he wishes to share his thoughts on the Kira case with you."

Debating the pros and cons of meeting the young man, L's tendency to distrust led him to believe that this could possibly turn out to be a confrontation with V. This said, L was inclined to test this idea. He decided that he would hold an interview.

"Watari, please send this message to Light Yagami..."

Light, who for a week after his father's death had been consumed by a Kira-centric scornful fury, eventually came to realize that action must be taken to end his horrid reign. The remaining FBI seemed the only place of solace he could take from the anarchy around him. Organization is the basis of a functioning society he reasoned, and thus, he felt the need to join the nearly defunct Bureau to partake in an organized, albeit limited, force of justice. He had already been pursuing Kira on his own, but his leads led nearly nowhere. The culprit was a tactful, cautious person whose capture required an elephantine concentration of crime-solving aptitude. The possibility of this presented itself when he was exposed to the entity known as L. Light became certain that if they combined their deductive powers and used the FBI's resources, including manpower, they would be able to track Kira. While this assumption was arrogant, Light's resolve to avenge his father's undeserved death propelled him to the apex of determination in solving the Kira case. After all, he had sworn to his father's grave many times to find the culprit and have him executed.

But after a couple weeks of no contact from L, Light was getting frustrated. The FBI was struggling to find solid ground to stand on after the majority of its members were wiped out during the mass police officer debacle. When Light received the response message from L via email, he was almost on the brink of saying "to hell with L." But, knowing that a combined effort would be the best option in catching Kira, Light did not hesitate to examine it:

"_Light Yagami. I have arranged a conversation between us. Watari, my liaison, will escort you to the selected area. Please be ready in an hour at the FBI and do not be insulted at our caution; this is Kira we are dealing with."_

A costumed, tall man met Light at the aforementioned area of designation, asking the latter to place a blindfold over his eyes before entering the vehicle. _This doesn't really feel like being 'escorted_,' Light mused with a slight hint of annoyed mirth for, while he was anxious to speak with the world's greatest detective, the blindfold was an obvious precaution in case _he_ was Kira. But Light's lack of sight amplified his perception of the road, and because the drive was occurring in his native Tokyo, Light subconsciously mapped out their precise location, to the street.

"We've arrived. I understand that you're blindfolded, but please walk straight. I will lead you inside." Light's aggravation was slightly raised further by his speech, for it was obscured by a voice modifier, even more evidence that Light was suspected of Kira (or so he thought). As he entered the building, Light was escorted into an elevator, going up perhaps ten or so floors, he figured. Led into a room a few feet from the lift, Light was asked to sit down by Watari. Then a different modified voice spoke up:

"Light Yagami, son of the deceased Soichiro Yagami. You have an IQ of roughly 190, your grades have been consistently at the top of your class, you have assisted your father with solving crimes in your native Japan starting at a young age, and you are, on all counts, a hard-working individual. But the only reason that you are here at this point in time is because I believe that you are Kira."

"What? You think that I would have-no, could have killed my own father and thousands of others for absolutely no reason? Like you said, I've helped the police force solve several crimes, so why would I eradicate the police force when I intended on entering it after University?"

"Kira has not evaded capture this long by being conspicuous. It is because of your proximity to the police force that makes you suspect to my suspicion."

"That's totally irrational! I have no means of killing so many people, and besides, the origin of the murders was France, a place I have no connection to. Moreover, I haven't even come here to gain your trust. I only want to discuss my ideas on the case and work with you to catch Kira."

"I see. Given that I still believe you may be Kira, please continue."


End file.
